The Alice Theory
by Audriec Salveator
Summary: Summer 1920. Bootlegging alcohol is a frequent pastime, WWI has just ended. And how is Alice Quinn spending this glorious time? Locked up in a dark asylum, until now, that is. As she is deemed 'Stable', she is thrown into the world of organized crime, booze, and drugs. And what about the odd adventures in this Art Deco Wonderland? What is real? Is it all in her head?
1. Chapter 1: Escape

_The Alice Theory_

Chicago, August of 1920:

The Sanatorium was a big white-washed box nestled into the corner of two large avenues, in the middle of Manhattan. It stood out quite painfully compared to the regular shops and homes. It had no spectacular architecture, maybe an Art Deco finish on the wall here, or an encrusted shape over here. But other than that, it was a white and dirty box that was an eyesore to the neighborhood.

The actual building wasn't near the neighborhood to be exact, the gardens and grounds of the estate was closer to the other buildings, and was actually really beautiful and made a great addition to the district. It was August, the middle of summer, the peak, and the glorious Wisteria trees flowed in the hot wind, and the bright green grass was illuminated in the noon sun. Small patches of sunflowers and daffodils were aplenty, and butterflies and ladybugs were common guests. There was also a tiny symmetrical pond near the entrance of the asylum, one that which the workers and patients loved to doddle around; Although the pond was at the time cut off from the landscape by a high, sharp-ended wrought-iron fencing (one identical to the fence that blocked off the asylum from the sane world; although, at the time, the world was hardly as sane as the asylum), because of an unfortunate suicide that a patient had condemned themself too.

But the inside of the sanatorium was much less cheery than the grounds. It was white-washed just as the exterior, the wires of the electrical lighting hanging on the tile walls by tacks, yet still strew against the hard ground. The only room with some sort of AC was the lobby, which is why it wasn't surprising that on the extraordinarily hot and crisp day, at the strike of noon; all the workers lounged in the lobby for their lunch break. Some even pulled out some bottles of alcohol, even though it had just been banned as illegal, yet no one seemed to mind.

There was a ticking noise down the hall. Down the hall, to the left, down the stairs, and another right, to be exact. There was a cell, blocked off from the world by just a small white wooden door with steel bars. Inside there was very cheap carpeting, the kind you see in a lunatic's room. It was meant to be plush and comfortable, soothing the installed patient, but the blood stains, other blemishes, and irritable rouge-fibers made it a true discomfort to rest in. The walls, just as all the others, blank and white, but the wallpaper was torn in places, revealing thick red brick. The room (one of the first cells of the asylum {which was built in 1830}), was once called home to an insane murderer, sexual attacker, a rouge-magician, a group of thieves, even a politician who suffered a mental breakdown. But currently, in the summer of 1920, it was hoteling a young woman named Alice Quinn. She was a pretty little thing, born in Manhattan, in Upper West Side in 1898. She was no one special, her father was a real estate broker, and her mother was unemployed. During the summer in which this story starts, she was eighteen. Such a lovely age for a young girl.

Except, unlike most teenage girls her age, she wasn't out having the time of her life. She was mumbling to herself, almost inaudibly. It could only be heard by the moths fluttering rapidly around the twitching light bulb hanging from the dull ceiling. She almost pitied them, mindless, being drawn into an endless pursuit of light and warmth, only to die when someone decided they were a pest, so pitiful…almost.

Alice had long black hair and hollow eyes of a matching color. She was dressed in a loosely tied robe (the officials at the mental place said she was no longer a threat, and so away with the straight jacket it was), and her feet were bare. She was lazily huddled into the back corner of the room, seemingly staring into nothing. It was during this bleak silence that a doctor, Mr. Knowles, walked in. He was followed by two nurses, silent, looking down, dressed in fine white dresses with red crosses etched onto their pill bottle hats. She gave them a blank look; one that noted she was listening, but left it up to them to decide if she cared or not. Alice was quite the cunning little devil.

"Alice… you've been here for quite some time…since 1908. Now, in most cases, you would serve a life sentence. Hell, you-"

To the readers of this story, I must ask for your forgiveness. I'm afraid as the narrator; I can't reveal what Alice Quinn did in 1908 that she was imprisoned for. But do keep reading.

"-But, the judge seems to think it was some kind of post-dramatic-stress caused by a childhood event that made you cause such a tragedy. In that case, we believe that you have been corrected and mentally stable. We have been given the instructions to…release you."

Even being as ruthlessly emotionless as she was, Alice Quinn was truly and not-so-subtly shocked. For almost as long as she could remember, she was inside of a dark cell, speechless. She just sat there, looking at the three people who towered over her. She was still in the process of deciding what that meant. She was…free? How was that possible after what she did?

These thoughts were interrupted as she was lifted up by the arms by the nurses. She for a few seconds, revolted, and refused to pick up her feet. But she then agreed with herself that it wasn't the correct behavior, and corrected herself. So, while everyone was enjoying their lunch break, Alice Quinn was on her way out.

Alice had been in the garden many times. It was very pretty to her, and she would secretly pick and stuff flowers in her clothing and take them back to her cell so she could have something happy in her room. But she realized that it reminded her of her dark past, and for once, the yard didn't seem vivid and beautiful. It felt extraordinarily hot to Alice, and everything was void of color. She wouldn't dare tell anyone of this experience, because she had just been labeled sane, and she wasn't going to go back without a fight.

And so, to the amusement and envy of the patients roaming the grounds, she entered one of the asylum's company's cars. She sat in silence as she was being driven. The driver spoke.

"Alice, the doctors think you living in your old home might not be good for your mental health. So, we had the head of the sanatorium buy out a small apartment near Washington Heights. The institution has covered the first month, but you'll need to get a job."

Ms. Quinn just nodded. She just wanted to lie down in a comfy bed and sleep. She also wanted new clothes. And a haircut.

When she was dropped off in front of the stone apartment complex, she meekly sighed. Across the street and down a couple of blocks, there was a man who was ushering people into a red building. Looked like a SpeakEasy. She quickly ran to the man; she needed some fun.


	2. Chapter 2: The Green Fairy

_The Alice Theory_

Chapter Two;

It had been exactly a day, three hours, and forty minutes since Alice had been released from the Asylum. She had a massive headache. It turned out that she had a load of paperwork to do. A psyche test (which she barely passed), and since her dear parents were departed, and because she was a legal adult, she had to register herself out of the sanatorium and had to apply for a citizenship card. But on the bright side, she had a wonderful time the night before. So sitting on her small chair, signing off gallons of paper, she relived the whole experience in her head.

She had just arrived at her new apartment. Alice wasn't bothered to unpack, because she herself had all her possessions at her old home, and was forbidden to go and receive them. So without anything to do, the still curious Alice went off to the McDlyn's Pub and bar (the mysterious red building she was ushered into). It was a medium sized building. Rectangular but with a curved roof etched with triangular patterns, it was quite the sight. The exterior was a bright red, which reminded Alice of the famous Moulin Rouge that she had heard many of her father's colleagues speak of. The bar was stuffed in between a barber shop and a Tobaccorium.

"Such an odd placement for a bar."

Alice was actually quite surprised to hear her voice, as she hadn't spoken in so long. It seemed deeper, and less childish from the last time she had said anything.

She entered the bar through a pair of large black doors, and instantly was stunned by the absenteeism of light. It was almost pitch black in the place! It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust; but when they did she was witness to a fabulous scene. To the left was a bar with a glass countertop above a mahogany island. Behind it, four shelves spanning at least three meters held all kinds of alcohol imaginable. Some drinks in the collection were a few bottles of rich Tate Merlo, Moonshine Vodka, even a rack devoted to some odd foreign ale. Alice herself had never drank, as she had been inside the institution since she was around eight, and she had always wondered what the drink that she saw all the men around her cheer on.

But even though she was institutionalized, she still read, and she knew great and well about the ban on liquor. She knew that the people practically revolted, either ignoring the law or taking advantage of it. The orderlies at the asylum were always chugging bottles in-between shifts, completely unaware they were under surveillance by the keen girl hiding in the corner.

With all that aside, she shifted her gaze to the center of the room, in which people in loose clothing were pirouetting around a stylized wooden floor. Alice had always held a certain respect and admiration for architecture; and there were plenty of notable features of the sort in the pub. The elegant yet bold geometric shapes the walls and arches of the interior added drama to the scene, and the bold paint (shimmering gold, bronze, and rich brown) all seemed to complete what seemed to be an Art Deco dream.

Nothing extraordinary was hidden in the right side of the lot. A spiraling staircase was nestled comfortably in the corner, and two doors labeled "Gents" and "Dames" bordered the entrance to the washrooms. Alice had no need for a bathroom and common sense told her not to go up to the second story, because of the risqué aura it carried.

So she was content just sitting herself down in a brown leather stool, and asking the bartender for a drink.

"Well, little miss, what is such a clean young lady doing down here? Shouldn't you be attending the estate?"

Alice was in no mood for such quips. She looked at the bartender. An Irishman, by his vivid red hair and his foreign way of speech. He wore a tweed jacket and a wickerwork hat.

"Ha-ha, if I might be so bold; may I just order a damn drink?"

That seemed to set him straight. Alice smirked as she combed through a library of quick-witted insults she could have thrown at the young man, but she wasn't ready to play all her cards.

"What y'ah want, little miss?"

Alice absolutely hated nick-names.

"Uh-Absinthe, Green Fairy Absinthe."

"That's quite strong, little miss. You're quite the kicker."

Absinthe had been illegal in America since 1912. But ever since the Prohibition started, it truly didn't matter, and crates of it were hulled in by the boatload.

She waited for only a few minutes, and then a clear glass was sat down in front of her. The spirit was a radiant green, practically glowing. It was pooled into a decadent reservoir glass, and unsweetened. She pondered whether she truly wanted to drink a beverage with such bad side effects, but she merely thought, why not? There wasn't much she could lose.

She downed the drink with a cough, as its bitterness spread through her mouth, slightly numbing her tongue. She ordered another, and savored its puckering succulence.

She became dazed within minutes.

Suddenly, she felt as though she was a companion to an ethereal floating woman; no, not a woman, a _fairy_; a shimmering, emerald fairy. The beautiful and whimsical creature had a delicate face that was pale, and sparkled. Her lips were nude and had no fissures. Her eyes were warm and inviting, as if subtly whispering _"It's all alright, you can tell me your darkest secrets, your darkest fears, and your brightest wishes."_ The woman had a full and curvy body, one that the women of that era would always wish for. She was wrapped fully in a floating green cloth, that seemed to be the richest and fullest green Alice had ever seen. The fairy had a necklace, with a gold chain, in the center was an opaque emerald that shown. The fairy had the most vivid and fantastical wings, better than anything Alice had seen in a fairytale. They truly had no form; they were just _there_, like colored wind. They glittered and sparkled even in the darkness.

When the fairy moved, her wings lost shape, and became a trail of gold and green. Alice couldn't help but stare at the beautiful creature. She seemed so wise, so lovely.

And Alice found it harder and harder to keep her eyes open, but she tried anyway, for she wanted to observe the fairy for as long as she could. She couldn't stop gazing at the glittering green wings, they all-knowing smile, and the warm eyes. The glittering green wings, the all-knowing smile, the warm eyes…

And Alice awoke in an illuminated forest.


End file.
